


Hollow

by Benjen_Greystark117



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjen_Greystark117/pseuds/Benjen_Greystark117
Summary: Theon Greyjoy is trying to keep his mind together, but after the war and Ramsay's torture, that is proving to be a difficult challenge.  This fan fic takes place in post-Season 8 Westeros.  Theon fought for the living, and helped to defeat Cersei.Now, he fights his own mind, and no one understands.  No one except Sansa.  However, Theon will receive support from some unlikely sources.





	1. Arrival

Theon sat atop his horse with eyes shut; feeling the northern air blow through his curly white hair. He could smell the smokehouses in Winterfell, and he could hear the people bustling through the gate he and his horse were before. Theon felt he could almost taste the North. He began to crack a small smile when he heard a guard address him.

  
“And… who might you be, Ser?” the guard asked seriously. Theon pondered the question a little. He remembered asking and answering the same question to himself for weeks now.

  
_I can’t help anyone, if I can’t help myself._

  
“Th-Theon Greyjoy,” Theon managed to shiver out his name as best he could. Years of Ramsay’s… conditioning had taken its toll.

  
“Ser, I’m going to need you to speak loud and clear, or you’re out of here,” the guard said; putting his hand on his sword hilt. Things were getting tense around Winterfell this weekend. A royal wedding was taking place after all.

  
Theon had received a raven whilst attending the Kingsmoot at Pyke. Since his sister had died, a new King or Queen of the Iron Islands needed to be chosen. Many iron-born men and women had supported the idea of making Theon the new King, but he rejected their proposal. So, the prominent families in the Iron Islands gathered by the cliffs of Pyke to discuss who should lead them. Four men and five women stepped forward. As the third woman began to speak, the raven was brought to him. It was an invitation from Sansa.

  
_Dear Theon,_

_Jon and Daenerys are getting married here at the Great Hall in Winterfell. They decided it was fitting that they should celebrate their love in the place were fighting was heaviest – where so many loved ones were lost. I’m sorry I never wrote to you after your sister died. I wished I’d known her. She seemed like a brave woman. I’m writing to you now to formally invite you to the wedding. Come home, Theon._

 

_Sincerely and with love,_

  
_Sansa Stark, Matron of the North_

 

That was the only reason Theon had even returned to Winterfell… for Sansa.

  
“Ser?”

  
Theon shook himself from his thoughts, “What?”

  
“Your name.”

  
“Oh… right. Theon of House Greyjoy,” Theon said; trying to sound more formal. It didn’t work. The guard looked him up and down, and began checking his list.

  
After a minute, the guard looked up, narrowed his eyes at him, and stood aside. “The Lords and Ladies are gathering in the great hall, Lord Greyjoy. You know the way,” the guard spat the last part out with obvious disgust. Theon didn’t care. He understood the disgust. He felt it himself. He felt ashamed to even step inside these walls.

  
As Theon rode through the gates, he felt eyes on him. They came from the courtyard… the ramparts… everywhere. He could see the people who remembered him. What he did and where he did it. When Theon was halfway to the middle of the courtyard, he turned his head to face the top of the archway he’d ridden through moments ago. He could still see them. The two orphan boys. Their bodies hung burnt and blackened to the point that they were completely unrecognizable. That had been the idea.

  
_“The men already suspect you can’t hold onto Winterfell, m’lord. If you come back without those boys, they’ll mutiny. You have to show them you’re stronger than just beheading a tired old man.”_

  
_“But I don’t have them!”_

  
_“Maybe you don’t need them…”_

  
Theon shook the memory from his mind. He needed to be put together if he was really going to face them today. Theon knew Sansa had forgiven him, and Jon had told him he forgave him for “what he could”, but the other Starks still hadn’t seen Theon in years. As he approached the entranceway to the Great Hall, Theon thought of Bran and Arya. Would they forgive him? How could Bran ever forgive him? Theon was the one who’d driven him away from his home. He’d kept him hostage and hunted him. Theon remembered the look on Bran’s face when he’d first taken Winterfell.

  
_“Theon. Did you hate us the whole time?”_

  
When Theon passed through the entranceway and into the hall, it was surprisingly empty. He figured everyone was getting ready for the feast that was going to be held tonight.

  
“What are you doing here?” said someone in a shadowy corner of the hall. Theon stared into the darkness and saw a pair of piercing grey eyes staring back at him – Ned Stark’s eyes. Theon pressed his back against the wall in fear.

  
_Am I dreaming? My true father’s ghost has come to haunt me._

  
Then, the figure emerged from the shadows. It was a girl with a long face and dark brown hair. She was very young, but she looked much older than how Theon remembered her. Gone was the care-free little girl who wished to be a warrior, in her place stood a colder person with a stern look and tired eyes.

  
“Hello, Arya,” was all Theon could squeak out.

  
“I see Sansa sent you a raven anyway. I told her not to. You shouldn’t even be here,” she said with her arms crossed. Theon almost smiled a little. She looked just like her mother.

  
_“Little Lady’s aren’t supposed to play with bows and arrows. Besides, your mother would have me flogged for teaching you.”_

  
_“I don’t care what Mother thinks. All she and Sansa care about is lady-things. I want to be a warrior. Like Nymeria Sand!”_

  
_“Fine. You have to work hard at it, now. I know I make it look easy, but learning to shoot an arrow can be difficult. It took me only a few years to master it, but then again I am a Greyjoy, and we’re renowned for our skill with a bow and arrow. It won’t be easy getting as good at shooting arrows as me.”_

  
_“I’m not going to be as good as you. I’m going to be better.”_

  
Theon remembered teaching her the stances and the correct way to hold the bow. Every day for years, he and Arya would train. By the time King Robert visited Winterfell, Arya was almost as good as him. After all that time, Theon and Arya had grown rather fond of one another. She was more than just a girl who’s family he lived with; she was a friend – a sister. Now…

  
“I know…” Theon said like a whisper; keeping his head down. Whenever Ramsay was angry with him, he would order Theon to avert his eyes and keep his head down like a “good little Reek.” Then, some horrible pain would follow. A sucker punch to the face or gut, a hot metal poker to the arm, or maybe he’d break one of his fingers. Whatever Ramsay chose, it was usually going to hurt for a while. Theon looked down at the missing fingers on his hands.

  
_Could I even hold a bow anymore?_

  
“Then why did you come?” Arya said; stepping so close to Theon, he feared she’d try to stab him with that fancy dagger of hers.

  
“Sansa asked me to,” Theon said; trying to keep his distance.

  
Arya narrowed her eyes at him, “Well I didn’t. So don’t try anything. If I find out your planning anything I don’t like, then you’re going to have an accident.”

  
Theon didn’t respond to Arya. He just kept his head down. Eventually he looked up and Arya had gone. It was as if she’d never even been there.

  
At one time, Theon would’ve found this threat ridiculous, but Sansa had told him about Arya’s affiliation with the Faceless Men. Now that the Mountain and Cersei Lannister were dead, she was probably the most dangerous person in all of Westeros. Maybe even in the known world.

  
Theon closed his eyes as he walked through the halls. He reached out to touch the cold, stone walls with what few fingers he possessed. He remembered running through them; playing with Robb and Jon. The three of them were inseparable as children. It wasn’t until they were older that Theon started in on Jon. He was a prince and Jon was a bastard. The old Theon didn’t think princes and bastards should be friends, so Theon picked on him relentlessly.

  
_I’m sorry, Jon._

  
Finally, Theon reached the entrance to the Great Hall. He could hear people speaking and dinner plates being set out on the tables. As Theon pressed his hands against the door, he rested his head against it too. He tried to calm himself before he faced them.

  
_If things go south, I can just leave. I’m not a prisoner anymore. I’m not a prisoner any-_

  
_Of course you are, Reek. Sansa may have killed me, but I’ll always be alive here… in your mind._

  
_No. You’re not real._

  
Theon tried to keep his cool, but he could feel the panic coming back. His hands began to shake and he was losing his sight. Finally, Theon just slumped to the floor, and began to cry. He tried to stifle it, but he was sure someone would hear him if they stood near the door.

  
_Pull it together, Theon. I-I-I am Theon-_

_Only Reek._

_Greyjoy… last living son-_

_Only Reek._

_Of Balon Greyjoy._

_Only Reek._

_I am…_

_ONLY REEK._

_…only Reek._

 

“Theon?”

 

Theon opened eyes and looked up to see a young boy sitting in a funny chair with wheels. He had a rather emotionless stare, but he saw a hint of concern.

_Bran?_

  
Theon stood up as quickly as he could to face Bran. He deserved that much at least.

  
“Are you alright? Do you want to come join us?” Bran asked simply. It was as if nothing had ever happened between them.

  
Theon couldn’t speak. He only nodded and followed the boy to where he and the rest of the remaining Starks sat. As he walked across the Great Hall, he could hear the whispers and he could feel the disgusted looks he was getting from everyone.

  
_Traitor._

_Turncoat._

_Man without honor._

  
Why was Bran not angry with him like Arya? Why of all the people in this room, did he seem to be the least affected by his presence?

  
Theon sat during the feast; watching Jon and Daenerys talking with each other. The two of them looked so happy. Theon felt a tear fall from his eye. He wiped it away quickly, so Sansa wouldn’t see it.

  
_You deserve this, Jon._

  
“I’m so glad you came,” Sansa said with a small smile. She was trying to hold back her joy because the lords and ladies wouldn’t think it was right for her to be too happy about a traitor’s return, but Theon knew she was overjoyed to see him again. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

  
“Of course I would,” he said smiling back.

  
Sansa grabbed his hand and whispered, “Don’t worry about Arya. I’ll talk to her. You should talk to Bran later. He has something he wants to tell you.”

  
Theon swallowed hard. Maybe Bran was just keeping his cool in front of the other Lords and Ladies like Sansa. Maybe now he would forbid him from returning again, or something…

  
As the feast went on, the various lords and ladies went around mingling with one another. Everyone seemed to avoid Theon – everyone, but Sansa. However, eventually Sansa was called to speak as Matron of the North to some other important dignitaries from across the Narrow Sea, so Theon found himself walking the courtyard. It didn’t remind him of anything terrible at this time of day. Theon had many fond memories of sneaking out of the castle with Robb and Jon to pretend they were heroes from the Long Night.

  
“Beautiful night isn’t it?” Daenerys said from across the courtyard. Her sudden appearance made Theon jump a little.

  
“Yes it is, your grace,” Theon replied with a bow.

  
“I just came out for a bit of fresh air… and to get away from Lady Mormont. That little girl can be quite the inquisitive child – if you can call her a child. She keeps asking me about my time with the Dothraki people.”

  
“She is quite the Lady.”

  
The two of them were quiet for a moment. Then, Daenerys stepped closer to him, “Why did you come out here?”

  
Theon pondered the question.

  
“I don’t like staying in crowded rooms. They make me… not myself.”

  
“Crowded rooms, or the crowd that’s in the room?”

  
Theon looked down again. Then he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I shouldn’t be here. I turned my back on my real family and drove them from their home. I killed innocent people. I couldn’t save my sister.”

  
Theon felt his legs begin to weaken. He leaned against the closest wall; trying to keep his balance. He couldn’t. As his body touched the cold ground he felt himself begin to cry again. He sobbed freely out here. He didn’t even care if his Queen could see him like this – a pathetic, hollow man. Theon grabbed a bottle he had on his belt. It was some kind of Dornish wine. He began to drink more and more of it. He was already quite drunk. Maybe he could drink it all away.

  
“Theon,” Daenerys had come to his side and kneeled in front of him. Her voice was so soft and warm. “You’ve paid for your crimes…,” she said as she took his hands, “…and then some.”

  
“I should be dead,” Theon said; swallowing his tears.

  
“No, you shouldn’t,” she said plainly, “You saved Jon’s sister, Sansa, remember?”

  
Theon looked up at her. Daenerys was going somewhere he was desperate to go – redemption.

  
“And you faced your Uncle when your rescue had all but failed,” she added; growing silent. The thought of the recently deceased saddened them both.

  
“I admired your sister greatly. She and I had a lot in common,” Daenerys said after a long silence.

  
“I wish I could’ve made it in time to save her,” Theon said earnestly.

  
When Theon and his rescue team had arrived in Pentos, they were immediately besieged by Euron’s men and a small garrison of Lannister soldiers. Eventually Theon managed to fight his way into one of the mansion’s Euron had claimed. By then, Theon’s rescue team was only comprised of him and a young man named Ersic. Theon and Ersic went from room to room looking for Yara. Then, they found her. She was barely alive. Her clothes had been ripped away from her like some kind of animal had torn them off. She had bite marks on her neck and chest, whip marks all over her body, and worst of all, Theon noticed a tiny bit of blood running down the inside of her right thigh. Ersic helped Theon lower his sister and wrap her in some curtains. She looked so weak. Her face had lost what little color it held. She looked older – like Theon after Ramsay.

  
_“Yara…”_

  
_“What’s the matter, baby brother?”_

  
_“We’ve got to go, Yara.”_

  
_“I don’t think I can make it.”_

  
_“No. You’re going to make it. I won’t leave you.”_

  
Yara put a hand on Theon’s cheek.

  
_“Take care, baby brother. I’m sorry I won’t be there to protect you anymore.”_

  
_“Yara…? Yara? YARA?!”_

  
Yara’s eyes were foggy and distant. She had gone.

  
_I hope you’re at peace wherever you are, Yara._

  
“That boy who came back with you, Ersic, said you also faced your Uncle, and avenged your sister,” Daenerys said with a look of approval.

  
After Theon and Ersic had carried Yara back to their boat, Theon decided he must face his Uncle for murdering his sister.

  
_“Ersic. Go on without me. Take the ‘Sea Bitch’ and get Yara back to Westeros.”_

  
_“But… Ser? What about you?”_

  
_“I have to face my Uncle.”_

  
_“I can wait for you, Ser.”_

  
_“Don’t… I won’t be coming back.”_

  
After that, Theon turned towards the mansion, and marched up to the front door. Theon was ready to die, but before he went, he was going to take his despicable Uncle Euron with him. As Theon approached the door, it suddenly swung open; knocking Theon down the steps to the beach below.

  
“Come to die, little Theon? Hahahahahaha! This should be fun…”

  
Theon stood up and faced his Uncle. Sword at the ready, Theon lunged at his Uncle. Euron side stepped it with ease and managed to trip Theon; making him fall head first into the sand. However, Theon quickly rolled over and brought his sword up in front of him, just as Euron’s great axe was coming towards his chest. Theon knew he wouldn’t survive long under Euron’s strength. So Theon grabbed a handful of sand and tossed in Euron’s face; blinding him temporarily.

  
_“You fuckin’ cunt!”_

  
Theon seized the opportunity and charged at Euron; tackling him to the ground. With all the fury Theon had left in his heart and soul, he began to hammer Euron’s face with his fists. Blow after blow after blow. With each strike, Theon imagined Ramsay’s face, the men who betrayed him at Winterfell, and his father. Theon did not stop until his fists hit sand. What was left of Euron’s head lay a heaping mess of meat, bone, and blood. No one would ever see his bloodcurdling grin again.

  
“Theon. You’ve done terrible things, but you can also do good,” Daenerys said hopefully.

  
“Good?” Theon said with hope in his eyes for the first time in years.

  
“Yes, Theon. Good. You’ve got a lot of time left to make amends for what you’ve done. Don’t give up.”

  
“I wish the others could see it that way.”

  
“You let me work on Jon. However, just give the others time.”

  
“Time…”

  
“Yes. Time,” Daenerys said with a smile.

  
“Thank you, your Grace,” Theon said; standing up and bowing.

  
“Daenerys, Theon,” Daenerys replied, “The Starks are the only family you have now. So, when Jon and I marry, you’ll be family too.”

  
_Family._

  
“Oh and speaking of Jon. He wanted to talk to you in the Godswood tonight,” Daenerys added as she was leaving.

  
_What could Jon want?_

  
With a feeling of purpose, and the supporting words Daenerys gave him, Theon sought out Jon. This could be the first step in a series of steps towards redemption. He missed having Jon as a brother. He missed Arya and Bran believing he was there for them. Maybe he could find a place among the Starks again. However, Theon’s deepest desire he kept buried. No matter how much redemption he gained, Theon would never tell Sansa how he felt. She may have forgiven him, but love was something else entirely.

  
_No one could ever love you, you freak. Remember what I did to you? As if my darling wife could ever love someone who couldn’t give her children._

  
Theon pushed Ramsay from his mind, but as he passed a shield hanging on a rack near the entrance to the castle, Theon thought he saw Ramsay’s maniacal grin reflecting back at him.

  
_I will never leave you, Reek._


	2. Jon

“Jon?” Theon called out into the darkness that filled the Godswood like a black fog.  He could see the pale white tree reflecting in the moonlight.  A dark figure stood motionless in front of the ancient tree.  He suddenly turned around; revealing his identity.

_Jon._

 

“Hello, Theon,” Jon said with a smile you give a stranger that looks vaguely familiar.

 

Theon returned the smile and stood next to his old friend.  The two of them walked around the small moon lake that was before the weirwood tree, and admired it.  Theon remembered watching Lord Eddard sharpen his Valyrian steel greatsword, ‘Ice,’ many times by this tree.  When Theon was first brought to Winterfell, he remembered thinking how scary and beautiful the trees were to him.

_“Our Old Gods and your people’s Drowned God are among the most ancient of religions in Westeros.”_

_“Why are the trees crying?”_

_“They cry for their fallen brothers and sisters.”_

_“Who were they?”_

_“Thousands of years ago these trees used to be all over Westeros, but when our ancestors came here, they didn’t understand their importance, and cut most of them down.”_

_“That’s sad…”_

_“Yes… it is.”_

“I’m guessing Sansa was the one who sent you a raven,” Jon said finally; turning to look over at Theon.  His face seemed to be as emotionless as Bran’s.  Theon began to put his head down, but remembered Daenerys’s words, and turned to face Jon.

 

“Aye.  She did,” Theon answered; not averting his eyes.

 

Jon smiled to himself, and put his hand on Theon’s shoulder, “I’m glad you came… for her sake.”

 

“I needed…” Theon began to say, but he wanted to avoid bringing up his past right now.

 

“What did you need?” Jon asked, surprised to hear Theon speaking without being asked a question first.  Had it really been so long since he was this confident?

 

“I needed to come here again,” Theon said; feeling his head begin to ache, “Just one more time.”

 

Jon lowered his head.  He could see a dark, sullen grimace spread across his face.  Theon didn’t know what for.  What did Jon have to be saddened about?  He’d just married a beautiful Queen, and become the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of Realm.

 

“Theon, I wanted to kill you when I heard how you’d betrayed Robb.  I even thought about riding off to help Robb root you out, as well as the Lannisters, but I stayed to honor my vow,” Jon explained slowly, “It’s taken me a long time now to come to terms with what you did… and the fact that you’ve suffered enough.”

 

Theon perked up; hanging on Jon’s every word.

 

“Robb is gone, Theon, and so is father.  Sansa, Bran, Arya… and you are all I have left of them,” Jon said looking at the weirwood tree, “I was wondering if you still thought a bastard and prince couldn’t be brothers?”

_“We aren’t brothers, Jon.”_

_“Well yeah I know that, but we’re like brothers.  You, me, Robb, and the little one, Bran – we’re all brothers.”_

_“Not me.  I’m a prince and you’re a bastard, and bastards and princes can never be brothers.”_

 

Theon smiled slightly, “I’d be honored to call you brother, Jon.”

 

Jon looked at him with a hint of surprise, but he quickly flashed a warm, brotherly smile at him.  The two brothers who’d grown to men stood there smiling until Theon felt overcome with familial love.  He reached out a hand to Jon, and Jon took it with vigor; pulling him into a deep hug.

_I wish you could’ve been here, Robb, but I’ve got one brother back at least._

 

The two let go of each other and Jon sighed; looking over at the weirwood tree again.  Something about these trees seemed more interesting to him now.  Perhaps the world’s close call with total destruction made him more God-fearing?

 

“Well, now that were brothers, I’d like to ask you something – or rather Daenerys and I want to ask you something,” Jon said with a hint of formality.

 

Theon found himself on his knee, “Of course, your grace,” he said jokingly.

 

“Get up!  You know I hate that,” Jon said laughing, “I’m serious though.  The two of us would like to know if you would be our son’s godfather.”

 

Theon stood up in awe.  “Why me?” he asked; confused at the very notion.

 

“Robb and Rickon are gone, and Bran… Bran is just not himself anymore.  I fear he’s become too busy being a wise sage to the other lords and ladies to actually be a good godfather,” Jon explained simply, “Also, Daenerys doesn’t have any family left.  Not since Ser Jorah died protecting her.”

 

Theon remembered hearing the combined death toll the white walkers and Cersei Lannister managed to cause.  Ser Jorah had fallen whilst protecting Daenerys from many Lannister soldiers.  After the battle with the white walkers, Rhaegon had died fighting Viserion, and Drogon was dying from his wounds.  So, with no dragons left to stand in her way, and a weakened army of Unsullied, traitorous Lannisters, and Northmen garrisoned at Winterfell, Cersei seized her opportunity.  However, she knew the former Dragon Queen would have her best men surrounding her during the battle, but what about the night before.  With a spy’s report that only Ser Jorah and a small company of Unsullied stood vigil outside her tent, Cersei launched a late night ambush to distract most of the Unsullied away from Daenerys.  During the ambush, only Ser Jorah stood guard, and surely a handful of Lannister men could slay this disgraced knight.

 

Her gamble was miscalculated.  Ser Jorah managed to fend off all six of the Lannister soldiers.  None of them managed to get within ten feet of Daenerys, but alas, poor Ser Jorah had taken to many wounds in the fight.  He collapsed in Daenerys’s arms.  Theon wasn’t sure what happened next, but Podrick had told him they said their good-byes and Ser Jorah’s remains were sent to Bear Island, to rest next to his father, Jeor Mormont.  It was rumored that even Lady Mormont was “moved” at the funeral.  Theon imagined her standing there stoically, with small streams of tears running down her face.

 

“So…?” Jon seemed to be waiting for Theon’s answer.

 

He beamed at Jon, “Of course I would be honored, Jon.”

 

“Good,” Jon said putting his hands on Theon’s shoulders, “I expect little Ned to be able to shoot a bow and arrow like you could back in the day.”

 

“Little Ned?” Theon asked; trying to keep his throat from getting dry.  Of all the people he wished he could apologize to, his true father, Ned Stark, was chief among them.

 

“Yes.  We named our son Eddard,” Jon said walking back towards the feast, “Just seemed right.”

_Right…_

 

Theon walked back into the feast and sat down for dessert.  He’d never really like northern desserts, but his time with Ramsay made him appreciate them.  Whenever Ramsay would ask Theon – Reek to clear the dishes, Reek would try to steal a piece of lemon cake or a crumb of a sweet roll.  If he was caught, Ramsay would take a knife and heat it up until it glowed red.  Then, he would demand Reek stick out his tongue so that “Reek could be punished properly.”  Ramsay would smile madly as he pressed the hot blade to Reek’s tongue.  Now, Theon couldn’t even taste food anymore.  He just knew when he was full.  At least Ramsay didn’t take his tongue completely.  Theon figured the only reason he left his tongue attached was because he loved to here Reek praise his “master” as well as when he begged for mercy.

 

“There you are!” Sansa said; hurrying over to Theon’s side.  She smelled a bit like Dornish wine, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 

“Helping Tyrion celebrate?” Theon said with a chuckle.

 

Sansa smiled with her mouth open a bit, and slurred, “How did you know?”

 

“Lucky guess?” Theon said; shrugging.

 

Sansa gave him a huge a hug and a small peck on the cheek.  Theon took a step back with a bit of a shocked look on his face – a look that Sansa reflected back.  The two of them looked into each other’s eyes for a second longer than normal.  Some lords and ladies had taken notice of their behavior.  Sansa blushed.

 

“Well, I’d best retire.  I feel… exhausted.  You must excuse me, Lord Greyjoy,” Sansa said with haste as she returned to her formal façade.  However, she was still having trouble with her balance, so Theon instinctively took her arm.

 

“It’s all that southern wine you had, sister,” Arya said; flashing a menacing, but polite smile at Theon, “Perhaps I should walk you to your chambers?”

 

Theon let go of Sansa’s arm, as Arya took the opposite arm.

 

“Yes.  That would be best, Arya.  Thank you,” Sansa said as she and Arya walked to her chambers… or rather as she and Arya _escaped_ to her chambers.

_She must hate crowds as much as I do._

 

After Sansa left, so too did Bran.  Theon noticed him talking to a peculiar girl around his age with wild, curly brown hair all night.  Had it not been for the crocodile sigil on her coat and her ragged attire, Theon might never have guessed who she was: Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed, an old friend of Ned Stark.  Theon could tell she knew who he was and what he did by the looks she’d given him as he arrived.  No doubt Bran had informed her of all his crimes.

 

“Allow me to show you to your chambers Lord Greyjoy,” a guard said with a grimace.  He obviously hated his job.

 

“ _My_ chambers?” Theon asked surprised.

_Did Sansa really give me a place to stay in the castle?_

 

“Yes, m’lord,” the guard replied; gesturing for Theon to follow him, “This way, m’lord.”

 

As Theon followed the guard, the two of them spoke briefly.  His name was Derrick, and he was from Moles Town – the shady village that sat in the shadow of the Wall.  Or at least what was left of it now.  Viserion’s attack had made short work of a large part of the Wall closest to Eastwatch.  Lord Beric

Dondarrion and Tormund Giantsbane had nearly died in the initial attack, but with the help of a few Wildlings and a handful of friendly Moles Town villagers, the two of them managed to escape from behind enemy lines.

 

“I remember seeing Lord Beric and that big bearded fella after the attack,” Derrick started, “the look on their face put the fear of the Gods in me.  So, I followed Lord Beric and his friend all the way to Winterfell and joined up.  I didn’t think I’d be pulling guard duty all the time though.”

 

“Don’t fret, Derrick,” Theon said with an understanding smile.  He remembered how restless he had been as a youth.

 

“Lady Sansa is a good leader.  If you give your all for her, then she’ll give her all for you.”

 

Suddenly Derrick’s demeanor changed.  It was like Theon’s advice had suddenly made him realize who he was talking to – a turncoat craven.  Theon watched his curious look fade to obvious anger and disgust.  It was as if he wanted to say, “I don’t need help from traitorous eunuchs!”

 

However, all Derrick said was, “Here we are Lord Greyjoy.”  Then he turned around and stormed off.  Theon looked after Derrick as he walked away.

_The North remembers, Reek.  Don’t you know tha-_

_Shut up!_

_It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking, Reek.  Come on… I taught you better than that._

 

Theon burst through the door to his room, and suddenly he realized where he was.  He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize where he was going when he was walking with Derrick – his old room.  It was just as Theon had left it the day he and Robb left to fight the Lannisters.  How had it not been destroyed when Ramsay set fire to Winterfell?  Or rather, why didn’t Ramsay destroy this room altogether.  Upon further examination, Theon noticed nothing that was of any value had been left there.  His clothes, jewelry, bows, and many other trinkets had more than likely been stolen by Ramsay’s men before they set Winterfell on fire.  By the time he and Ramsay returned, there was nothing left of his room that made it his.

_At least they left the mirror._

 

Theon turned to face the mirror.  He took a deep breath and began taking off his clothes.  First, he removed his gloves, shoes, and jacket.  Theon looked at his mangled up hands.  He remembered being proud of the fine things they could do with both women and weapons.  Now, he had to struggle just to tie and untie his own boots.

 

Next, Theon began removing his shirt and trousers.  As he pulled his shirt over his head, he revealed his bare chest.  He was in good shape – better shape than when he was with Ramsay anyway.  However, his body was littered with scars.  Light scars, deep scars, clean scars, and ugly scars.  Theon put his hand over where his right nipple used to be.  Ramsay had really enjoyed that day, Theon recalled.  How could something so small hurt so badly when removed?

 

“Admiring my work?”

 

Theon jumped at the sound of Ramsay’s voice.  He looked around in a panicked haze.  Where was he?  How could he be here?  He was dead.  Sansa had told Theon he died.  She saw him die!

 

“The mirror, Reek,” Ramsay’s voice said with a tone you’d use with a child.

 

In the mirror, standing behind Theon, was Ramsay.  Theon turned around, but Ramsay wasn’t there, however when he turned back to face the mirror – there Ramsay was again.  When his eyes met Ramsay’s, Theon turned away quickly; regressing back into Reek for a moment.  Theon could barely move.  He didn’t want to look at the mirror.  He didn’t want to see that insane smile and those maddened eyes ever again.  Then, he thought of his family – his real family.  He thought of their bravery and their willingness to stand up to evil.  He thought of Jon’s words.  He thought of Daenerys’s words too, but above all, he heard Sansa’s words.  Suddenly, Theon felt what he had never felt in the presence of Ramsay since their first meeting: real bravery and defiance.  Theon snapped his head in the direction of the mirror, and looked directly into Ramsay’s eyes.

 

“You can’t be here.  You aren’t real!” Theon said to the mirror with a cool tone.

 

Ramsay blinked in disbelief, but he quickly began smiling again.

 

“Is that Theon Greyjoy I see before me?” Ramsay asked with eyes lighting up, “I thought he was long gone.”

 

“Ramsay Bolton is dead.  House Bolton is dead.  Sansa made sure of that!” Theon said; refusing to give in to his mocking.

 

“Yes, it’s true we’re all dead… but the evidence of my life is still here.  Isn’t it, Reek?” Ramsay said with a clever grin.

_He never stopped smiling all the time._

 

“No, I didn’t.  How can I frown when I’ll never be forgotten,” Ramsay replied.

 

“How can you never be forgotten?” Theon demanded to know.

 

“Because of you, Reek,” Ramsay said matter-of-factly, “You are the walking, talking, breathing evidence of my life and wrath.  When Northmen and Ironborn see you, they’ll remember what you did, sure, but they’ll also remember who made you pay.”

 

Theon stared in horror as his master revealed to him his last punishment, “You are my legacy, Reek.”

 

“No,” Theon muttered.

 

“Yes, Reek.  You think Sansa loves remembering how you watched her being defiled?  How you coward in the corner like a child – eyes and nose running,” Ramsay taunted.

 

“I-I was –” Theon started.

 

“Afraid?!” Ramsay finished; pouting like a child and mocking Theon, “You were terrified!  Just like you’re terrified of Sansa’s whore sister!”

 

“Don’t talk about Arya!” Theon shot back at Ramsay.  He clenched his fists; trying to hold in the anger.

 

“I would’ve had fun braking her in,” Ramsay said; licking his lips and smiling wider, “and I bet you wouldn’t stop me either.  You’d sit there like a good, little Reek and watch… and I bet you’d like it.”

 

“Stop!” Theon barked; placing his hands on his head.  It was beginning to hurt.

 

“Don’t think I haven’t heard those thoughts of yours, Reek – those old Theon thoughts.  ‘She’s gotten older… prettier,’” Ramsay managed to mimic not only Theon’s own voice, but his old attitude too, “What would Sansa think if she knew you were lusting after her and her sister?”

 

“I’m not!” Theon protested, but he knew the truth.  Both the Stark girls were growing into women.  Hell, Sansa practically was already, and Arya wouldn’t be far behind.

 

“You’re thinking it now.  You don’t want to…,” Ramsay’s voiced changed to Arya’s, “… but the thought just won’t go away.”

 

“Go away!” Theon yelled.  He didn’t care if anyone heard him.  He just wanted Ramsay gone.

 

Ramsay’s voice was his own again, “You know how to make that happen, Reek.”

 

Theon didn’t know what Ramsay meant by that, so he asked, “How?!”

 

“Easy.  The answer lies in your old wardrobe.  There’s something there that belongs to Theon Greyjoy that will help you,” Ramsay said darkly.

 

Theon knew exactly what Ramsay meant.  He opened the wardrobe, and peered into it.  He was trying to see exactly where the outline was… found it!  The trap door in the bottom of Theon’s wardrobe held many secret things he’d kept away from Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, and even Robb.  No one knew about these things.  Especially about the dagger he kept there.

 

“Take the blade, Theon, and do it!” Ramsay ordered.  Theon felt Reek taking over.

 

“NO!” Theon bellowed, and began striking the mirror with his bare fists.  He did not stop until it was completely shattered.

 

Theon sighed out of exhaustion.  He leaned against the wall next to his bed, and slunk down to the cold stone floor; staring at his bleeding fists.  His hands were shaking, so he clasped them together to try to ease it, but that only seemed to make it worse.  Suddenly, Theon felt drawn to the dagger that lay next to him on the floor.

_Do it._

_No._

_Do it or Sansa will never be happy._

_No.  You’re wrong.  She was happy to see me._

_No she wasn’t.  She hates you.  She’s probably just acting nice so you’re relaxed.  Then she’ll send that bitch sister of hers to kill you right here.  You might as well get it over with…_

_No.  Jon and Daenerys want me to watch over their child._

_Do you actually think that?! That was all a part of Sansa’s plan – part of relaxing you.  Everything Jon or Daenerys told you were lies.  Lies!_

_No._

_LIES!  LIES!  LIES!_

 

Theon grasped the blade and pressed to his wrist; hesitating over the vein.

_That’s it, Reek.  You’ll be able to rest when it’s over.  I promise._

 

The pain was quick, but not persistent.  Theon felt the blade bite into him, but soon after he just dropped the dagger and waited.  The blood flowed slowly and thickly from his wrist.  As seconds turned to minutes, Theon decided to walk the corridors one last time.  Maybe walking would speed up the process?  Not to mention, Theon wanted to walk through Winterfell’s halls one last time before he died.

 

Theon began to stand, but quickly fell backwards onto the bed.  He’d lost more blood than he thought.  His balance was off and he was getting colder.  He tried to stand again.  This time he had better luck.  Theon walked closer to his door, but lost his balance once more.  He felt the ground coming closer to him as he fumbled into his old wardrobe; knocking it over with a crash.  Theon crawled over closer to the door.  He needed to get out of the room.  He didn’t want to die in this room.  No happy memories resided here.  He wanted to be in the halls – the halls he used to play in with Robb and Jon.

 

Theon reached the door, but couldn’t find his feet, so he reached up for the handle.  It was just out of reach.  Maybe if he could lift himself up higher he could grab it?  Slowly, Theon used all of his available strength to push up with his left arm, and reach with his right.  The blood from his right wrist was dripping faster and faster down his arm and onto his face; getting into his eyes and mouth.

_Almost… there._

_That’s right, Reek.  Keep reaching._

 

Just as his right hand began to touch the handle, the door swung open.  Theon slunk back to the floor again and rolled over onto his back.  His vision was going, but before it went completely, Theon could see Ned Starks eyes staring at him once more.

 

“Arya…?” Theon mumbled.  Then, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me awhile to finish I know. Keep reading and giving me Kudos, my dudes and dudettes!
> 
> P.S. Let me know if the quality is slipping y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> First time publishing any of my work. Let me know how I'm doing will ya? The last part gave me trouble, but hey... I ain't perfect.


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